Slowly, the black disapproval on Q’s face faded. He gave me a look bordering aloof uncaring and desperate apology.
Tess continued, “You fucked up, my love. And we need to fix it. If it’s even possible.”
His gaze snapped to hers. His lips parted, and a stream of French erupted.
My ears throbbed with the bruised romance falling from his mouth, threading with argument, demanding more proof perhaps, giving himself more time before fully accepting his crimes.
My heart searched for a translator, clutching at phrases I could never spell let alone remember to look up later. Whatever they spoke about, their feet guided them closer until their hands reached for each other and their matching tension evaporated as if touching reminded them they were on the same side. That they were together, regardless if Elder and I were.
They still have each other.
And that butchered me to be so alone and lost and absolutely terrified that Elder hadn’t survived what this man had done to him.
Angry, hot tears glassed my vision as I struggled not to cry. Tess might forgive him, but I never could. My body wracked with silent sobs and I did everything I could to stay stoic on their couch, but as their voices switched to decibels full of love and forgiveness, my lip wobbled, and I gave up the fight.
Covering my face with my hands, I sank teeth into my traitorous lip and gagged on salty tears.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
My eyes somehow managed to obey, but my body continued to sob. My shoulders quaking silently. My screamed despair once again mute.
Blind to the two people putting on a performance before me, my ears twitched as Tess switched French for English, “The day you met me, you didn’t let prior interactions twist who I truly was. You saw me that day, maître. Now, I’m asking you to see Pimlico and her situation without the mess of the past few decades.”
I glanced up as Tess looked at her baby on the carpet then linked her arm through Q’s to guide him closer to me. The dog raised its head, wagging its tail before snuggling back into slumber.
No one spoke.
No one breathed.
We only stared and studied and tried to see past first impressions of me being the victim and him being the instrument of my heartbreak.
Q looked, truly looked. The stripping back of who I was hurt as he took in my dress, my hair, my face, my penny bracelet tinkling quietly on my wrist whenever I moved.
Finally, he sighed. “I believe my wife. I didn’t study you last night, but now…it’s obvious.”
Before I could ask what was obvious, he waved his hand. “Your wounds are old; your scars are healed. You look like a girl who’s been rescued months ago.” His gaze fell on my penny bracelet. “Slaves are permitted gifts, but it’s normally something the master gains equal pleasure from. That bracelet…it’s from him, isn’t it?”
My stomach hollowed out as I cupped the diamond inlaid circlet, my mind full of Elder and the Phantom and every moment I’d fallen in love with him.
I didn’t know what to say so stayed silent, but gave a single nod—an acceptance of his white flag, an acknowledgement that my hate might never go away but I was strong enough to be civil.
“Somehow, I doubt he only thought of your worth in pennies.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if a headache suddenly skewered him. “He probably called you his Dollar Duchess or something just as sickening. He probably showered you with gifts because he was so in love with you. Fuck…” Looking at the ceiling, he muttered, “Je suis désolé. It seems I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
My ears rang, disbelieving that this man who’d destroyed my life yesterday apologised so heartfelt today.
But it doesn’t matter.
He could be as regretful as anyone, but it wouldn’t bring Elder back. It wouldn’t reincarnate the dead if his shot had been true and Elder’s life stolen.
Tess gave me a look as if begging me to absolve him. As if this man would care what I thought.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet.
And never if Elder was dead.
If he was alive and we were reunited, then maybe, possibly, hopefully in the future I could let go of my loathing.
But not right now.
Dipping my chin, I wrapped my arms around my waist, flinching as my pennies tinkled, and Q winced as if I’d physically slapped him.
Wrenching from Tess’s hold, he reached into his back pocket and held out a glossy black cell phone. “Call him. I know where I shot him. I didn’t hit his heart. It wouldn’t have been my bullet to kill him—” He bent closer, urging me to take his phone. “Please, call him. Let me fix this.”
I sat frozen.
It wouldn’t have been my bullet to kill him.